The Hood to Coast Relay

by Marlys Chapman

"Shall we hit the mountains or the beach?" It is a common question for the sports-minded in Portland, Oregon. Portland 's location, 90 miles midway between the Cascade Mountains and the Pacific Ocean, has long inspired an ultimate adventure run, the Hood To Coast Relay. Each summer 12,000 people show up to run 195 miles from the base ski lodge at the 6000-foot level of Mt. Hood to the town of Seaside on the ocean's shore.

One thousand teams of twelve runners take turns carrying their official glow-in-the-dark wrist batons between designated exchange points where they hand off to their next teammate. The race has 36 legs so each member runs three stints of 5 ½ miles. Teams are seeded and start in "waves" every fifteen minutes from 8:00am to 7:45pm . Registration usually fills the day it opens and teams are often made up from track clubs, office mates, former high school and college running buddies collected from around the country and the world for a rip-roaring reunion experience. Some teams are sponsored and raise money for charity; many do it just for the adventure. Each team has support vans, often decorated and named ("Van Go," "I Van the Terrible") and each picks a name - sometimes censored from the official race program ("24 Buns & No Weenies," "Da Bulls").

How does one really describe the experience? Two runners share their reflections. Dave Moldal is from Minneapolis; Todd Mansfield lives in Portland.

***

Five runners.at thirty minutes per runner.um.oh NO! "JONAS get your SHOES on!" shouted my brother, startling me and three other exhausted teammates from a restless nap in our cramped rental ran. Rubbing my eyes, my watch read a distressing 3:47am. In a chaotic and flashlight-illuminated flurry of sweaty clothes, crinkled water bottles and torn nutrition bar wrappers, Jonas leapt from the van, threw on his reflective vest and shoes and made his way to a group of other fatigued and haggard runners at Transition #17. Trailing a few yards behind, the rest of us extolled Jonas' prodigious fortitude with a chorus of encouraging cheers and yelps, then peered down the darkened stretch of highway hoping to catch a glimpse of a teammate. Half a day had passed since our "wave" started at Timberline Lodge. Now, midway to the finish, nineteen legs remained including the punishing gradient of the Coast Range. Suddenly, our teammate crossed the line and Jonas was off and running. We piled into our vehicle and rejoined the serpentine entourage of 12, 000 runners in a test of will, mind and body.

HTC is a running event like none other. It is common for teams to stare in bewilderment at the course map and realize the magnitude of the task ahead. With the thought of racing in the wee hours of the morning, non-elite teams like mine often lower their intensity and transition into an energy-sustaining and more subdued endurance mode. Moreover, the blatant competition of shorter races often fades a few hours after the starting gun. Quite frankly, the sweetest victory is simply crossing the finish line with your team intact.

HTC is full of challenges you don't truly appreciate: learning to sleep in a gear-stuffed minivan with five other people (and their socks); calculating when to get in line for the port-o-potties; figuring out what to eat after your fifth Power Bar in the last seven hours; recruiting others to pick up extra legs when a bad knee or illness hobbles a teammate; ensuring that there's a runner waiting when another runner arrives at a transition area.

In a moment of weakness last Fall, I submitted an application for the 2005 HTC race. As team captain, I realized that creating a list of twelve willing bodies is not terribly difficult. Retaining the roster for a race nine months away requires diligent planning, a pinch of coaching, email reminders, gentle cajoling, outright begging and a LARGE dose of luck.

Our team this year is aptly dubbed the Furtive Feds. We thought the handle was appropriate, considering the strong public service theme in our chosen professions. At the very least with a roster of doctors, lawyers, scientists, journalists, and even trained investigators, the Furtive Feds are well prepared for whatever this race throws at us.

For me, HTC is the pinnacle race of the year and the most anticipated of those scribbled on my wall calendar. It is not only a unique physical and logistical challenge but is also a rare opportunity to forge lasting bonds and fond memories with a diverse group of new and old friends.

Oh, by the way, if you happen to be running HTC this August, please keep it down at Transition #17.

Dave Moldal

"If you have never run the Hood To Coast in Oregon you are missing out." That's what I kept hearing so I said, "Sure" I was ready to train hard, run hills, be all prepped to help my team. Nope. Didn't train, forgot I was running in it and just a few days before the event, I got a call from friends who had asked us to participate. I thought, "Hope these guys aren't high intensity because I'm not."

There I was, getting up at the crack of dawn, hopping into the van with people I didn't know, heading off to Mt. Hood. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, our lead man was gone. Wow! These guys are in good shape - they are fired up. Our team, Bootylicious, was off. We walked back to the van feeling good, laughing at some of the funny decorations on vans. One of our runners came sprinting to his hand-off, passed the wrist baton, continued over to the trash bin, threw up repeatedly and then rinsed with a glass of water, walked over to us and screamed, "Yeah! That was awesome. Let's go!" I was going to be sick.

So, finally, my first segment - in came the runner, flying up, running as fast as he could.

All of a sudden I remembered the children's story of the Hare and the Tortoise. I thought, "Run slow and steady and you will do fine, Todd." Yup, that's what I did. I was passed by ten women before I made a quarter mile. I was thinking, "This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy." But I was off and nobody could stop me now. And then I hit my first hill. It was only 100 feet but it felt like 1000. It was hell. Slowly the miles passed. About half way out the van stopped and waited for me, cheering me on, though the whole time they were probably thinking, "Who is this slow guy?" I kept trudging along, pouring sweat. I had completed my first segment at about a ten minute mile - I'm telling you S.L.O.W. - but now I had a couple of hours off. I could sleep. How do you do that in a car when you are fired up about a race and having a great time? You don't. So, with no sleep and a little food, I got ready for stage two. Midnight, 1 am, 2am , finally it was 3am and here came our team. I was off. This is where it got weird.

I ran along back roads listening to a teammate's MP3 player. He was apparently a fan of the 80s, England 's music revolution of 1987 in particular, because that music was brutal but it kept me going. I started to hear some other noise coming through my headphones. Suddenly a car came tearing around the corner. It may have been ten feet away but it felt like two feet. Anyway, he came so fast I threw my empty water bottle onto the road. Sure, I could have caused him to crash but driving at speed through a race pissed me off. I heard it hit the car, I heard skidding, and I kept running - noticeably faster. The car turned around and came up behind me. I realized how stupid it was to throw the bottle but I was ready. I was ready for the guy to leap out of his car and yell at me, or worse, attack me. I ran like the wind, ready to turn and face him if he got close, but after trailing me a few hundred feet, he backed around and moved on to scare the next runner.

It's nerve wracking when you are out there alone with only your headlamp pointing at the ground, showing the way. Soon, the end of that leg was complete. I couldn't sleep. I had my longest stint coming up - the final thrust - six miles to the end - in front of thousands of people. Here came the exchange. I recall going downhill for some time - like one mile. " Oh crap, I will have to run back up that hill." Yes, I walked. I can't help it. I am not an amazing runner. I had one goal - to make it to the end. If it took walking, I would walk, and I'm proud. Two more miles downhill. Easy. Of course, I am now two inches shorter but I got down to flat land where you think you are near the end - and it was still so far off. There was a long run along the shoreline - beautiful. My team was there waiting to join me so we could cross the finish line together.

I didn't prepare at all for the most miles I had ever run - and I had the best time ever.

The team is what makes this event special. Hard core runners might have a good time, but if you just have a bunch of caring people cheering you on, you will never forget your experience.

Todd Mansfield

The HTC is run at the end of August. There is also a PTC - a walk from Portland to Seaside. Hugs and photos, beer and celebrations at the finish line for all. For further information, see http://www.hoodtocoast.com/ .

Seattle to Portland Bicycle Classic (STP)

The annual STP -- Seattle to Portland Bicycle Ride--takes place in July. Up to 8,000 riders take a route through scenic valleys, forests and farmland of western Washington and Oregon, completing the trip in either one or two days. This year the oldest rider will be 81 and twenty-eight of the youngest will be under ten years of age. Last year riders came from 38 states, plus Australia , Brazil , Canada , Denmark, Japan and Switzerland . Again, many riders raise thousands of dollars for charity by organizing sponsorships. Others ride just for fun and for achieving new goals.

As with any sport, training is essential, and bicycle clubs offer training programs for conditioning and riding experience. Certain skills are helpful, also, such as "drafting."

Since the wind blows often from the South and much of the ride to Portland is into a head wind, riding behind a group or even a single rider saves 30% or more of one's energy - while still going the same speed. This takes practice and an awareness of safety factors.

Hill-training, testing of equipment, clothing choices, food and hydration all require a rider's time and attention. Endurance needs to be built, consistent sleep patterns established. It goes without saying that customizing one's bicycle is a big item for consideration and perhaps leads to upgrading of equipment. Personal support vehicles are discouraged as they create additional hazards for cyclists and for local traffic.

Official food stops are offered en route - providing carbos, potassium, water, mechanical assistance and, of course, portable toilet facilities. Local townspeople staff these mini-stops and local organizations celebrate the riders as they stop for assistance or for food and drink.

Christopher Dattan, M.D. lives in Seattle . Ellen Teicher is an editor with Open Spaces .

***

My first ride in the Seattle-to-Portland Bicycle Classic was on an old Schwinn Continental. However, I suggest avoiding 40-pound bicycles as a general rule.

I survived, and riding that old heavy beast just made it an even greater challenge. But I missed the usual pleasant and relaxed mental vacation of a long bike ride. I repeated to myself a ceaseless mantra, "Man, my rear is sore." I kept asking myself questions like, "Should I stand up out of the saddle? Adjust my shorts? Go a little further?"

My seven STP rides since then have been much more comfortable. The days have been sunny, the food stops fulfilling, and the social time relaxing. I've upgraded my bicycles, and one of the fun parts of the ride is the variety of the riders and their machines.

My favorite part of the ride is the 32 miles heading into Castle Rock, where I have always stayed the night. The small towns leading up to it are very pleasant to gaze at as I cycle by, especially Winlock and Vader. By that time in the ride, the crowd of riders and the invigorating energy of riding in a big group have passed. I'm somewhat tired, but the scenery of rolling hills keeps me pedaling.

For me, a long ride on quiet roads offers a rhythm of movement and meditation. It is a break from the routine and an opportunity to really have time for myself. And then big, deep thoughts come to me like, "When will I get there?" or, "A shower would sure be nice."

The STP is a fun, memorable experience. As long as you have trained beforehand, it really isn't that difficult. I just love the run into Portland, which is exciting with the finish line fervor. Just like the beginning, there is a lot of color, excitement and satisfaction.

Christopher Dattan, MD

Postscript: It was a good story to tell our friends at dinner that particular Sunday evening some years ago. The day began with my husband and me going on a leisurely 30 mile bike ride through the streets of northeast and north Portland. About half way through our ride we started being passed by large groups of bicyclists adorned in state-of-the-art gear with numbers on their backs. We seemed to be on the same route as they were, but dressed in generic shorts and shirts, we definitely didn't look like them. As individual bicyclists acknowledged us in passing, they seemed to be giving us odd looks. I pulled up next to my husband and asked why so many people were out - if this perhaps were practice for some future event. He didn't know. We just kept pedaling as more and more cyclists passed us by.

Our route took us through Delta Park and we could see that the area had been blocked off so that there was only one way through. We had no choice but to ride through the STP finish line to the clapping and cheers of the crowd. After our initial embarrassment, we laughed hysterically as we rode the final ten miles back to our car. And that is how, without even starting, we finished the STP. It's still a good story to tell.

Ellen Teicher

For further information, see http://www.cascade.org/EandR/stp/index.cfm .